Prank Wars
by ElusiveAuthoress
Summary: Series of one shots of Sam and Dean's childhood prank wars. Rated T for mild language.
1. Say It

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do. How would you know?"

"Because I'm smarter than you, that's how."

_"Shut up!" _

Dean sighed. "Yes sir."  
Sam tensed. "Fine."

John spared a glance in the rear view mirror at his two boys, determinedly laying against opposite sides of the truck. He knew they'd be curled up against each other soon enough, using each other for pillows and body heat. It was cold in Pennsylvania in December, where they were investigating a particularly nasty spirit. When they'd gone to her house, she'd attacked Sam, and he now sported a nasty cut above his left eyebrow that Dean had tended carefully and gently. He knew those two loved each other, but sometimes they drove each other crazy from being in such close proximity all the time. Sam's fourteen year old moodiness got under Dean's eighteen year old skin. And Dean's eighteen year old attitude irked Sam's fourteen year old hero worship.

They drove for another half hour, and when John pulled into their motel, he saw that Sam and Dean were, in fact, leaning against each other, Sam's head on Dean's shoulder and Dean's head resting on top of Sam's. Both were sound asleep, and John smiled grimly. Not much made him smile these days, but his boys always could, even when they didn't mean to. John woke them both gruffly before he got too sentimental, and they grumbled their way into their room and flopped down, fully dressed. John went to his room after making sure he laid the salt lines. Normally, he would've made Dean and Sam get up and _quit being so damn lazy! _but he figured they'd both done enough for tonight.

John fell asleep quickly, completely unaware of what was going on in his sons' room, right next door.

"Get off me, you jerk!" Sam snapped, wiggling as Dean tickled him mercilessly. "I will not!" Dean crowed. "Not 'til you say it."

"Get off! I'm tired, and I want to go to sleep, and if you don't get off _I will kick your ass_," Sam threatened. "Aw, Sammy, no you won't." Dean's eyes widened when Sam pushed up with surprising strength, forcing Dean to fall back. Sam jumped on him quickly and had him pinned. "Now," he said, out of breath from being tickled, face flushed and hair falling down. "You say it." Dean shook his head. "Never." And Sam commenced tickling furiously, until Dean was trying to roll and laugh and yell at the same time. "Sammy! This...isn't a...game," he said between laughter. "I think it is," Sam announced. "And anyways, you started it."

Dean refused to lose at his own game. "Say. It." He grabbed Sam by the hair and used it like a lever to pull his brother off and get him pinned again. "Dammit, Dean, this isn't funny!" Dean laughed. "I think it is. Now, say it or eat carpet." Sam growled. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied cheerfully. Sam grumbled, "I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do. How would you know?"

"Because I'm smarter -" Sam's face was in the carpet. "Stop saying that," Dean admonished. "It's not nice."

"Dean, I hate you, you bastard." Dean shrugged. "Say it."

"Fine, fine. Get off. I want to go to sleep tonight."

Dean got up carefully, body tense as he watched Sammy, waiting to see if his brother was going to be stupid enough to try and outsmart him. He'd never admit it, but Sam probably could. "Dean Winchester is the best big brother ever and he is my hero." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Aaaand..." he drawled. Sam sighed in defeat. "And he can kick my ass any day, as proven by the fact that I have to say this." Dean poked him. "Good job, Sammy. Now get some sleep." Sam went to bed, but not to sleep. He waited silently and watched until he was sure his brother was sleeping, and then he made his move. He got his Sharpie marker and began drawing.

* * *

"_Sam!_" Dean's strained, furious voice came from the bathroom. Sam stretched luxuriously. "Dean?" he answered, pretending to be confused. "Get in here! Now!" Dean growled. Sam stood and made his way drowsily to the bathroom, watching in amusement as Dean scrubbed his face raw to try and get the Sharpie off of him. There were stars and hearts and teardrops and random vine designs. He snarled at Sam, "What did you do?" Sam feigned innocence, something he was good at. His doe eyes could manipulate anyone. "I didn't do anything, Dean. I was tired last night after you attacked me, so I went to bed." Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed and ruffled his little brother's hair affectionately. "At least you're learning to admit to nothing," he muttered before renewing his scrubbing. "I'm still getting you back for this, though," he added as an afterthought. Sam laughed as he left the bathroom to flop back down on his bed. "I'm counting on it, Dean," he mumbled into his pillow.

* * *

**Author's Note:**Do you like? Let me know. :)


	2. Nair

Sam was in the shower when it happened. His father was out, investigating some demon or something, and Dean hadn't yet gotten him back for drawing on his face. Sam had been on alert ever since, constantly tensing and waiting for the moment his brother would pounce, but it never came. He'd started to relax, figuring Dean would leave it alone, but of course he was gone. Dean never let anything go. Right now, Dean was watching TV with a smug smirk on his face. He began counting in his head. _Five...four...three...two_...

"_Dean!_"

Dean coughed. "What, Sammy?"

"Come here."

Dean sighed and stood, making his way to the bathroom, where Sam stood, a towel wrapped around his waist and a furious look on his face. He held out his hand. A brown curl rested in his palm, and in his other hand he held a shampoo bottle. "Nair. I wonder how that got in there." Sam's eyes pierced him, and Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno, Sammy. Maybe you grabbed the wrong bottle." Sam punched him. Dean stared for a moment before lunging. They wrestled for a good ten minutes until Dean accidentally tugged out another one of Sam's curls.

"Oh, shit, Sam! They're really coming out." Dean's eyes widened.

"What did you think Nair was _for_, Dean?" Sam growled. "I..um, sorry, Sammy." Sam made an inarticulate noise deep in his throat before punching Dean again. "Stop hitting me! I didn't hit you when you drew on me!"

"That comes off!"

"So does your hair!"

Sam wound up for another punch, but Dean grabbed his wrist. "Stop! Dad's back." Sam listened hard and heard the distinct sound of tires crunching. "Fine. But I will get you back for this. Count on it," Sam warned, pulling his arm out of Dean's grip and pushing him out of the bathroom. Dean returned to his seat and channel surfing, a grin on his face.

_Dean: 2 Sam: 1_

* * *

**Author's Note:**I decided to make this a series of one shots, instead of just one. Do you like? :) Send me your prank ideas, and I'll credit you if I use them!


	3. Dean Gets Blocked

**Author's Note:**This idea was courtesy of sammy's3494girl. I hope it lived up to expectations, and feedback is always appreciated(:

Send me your ideas, and I'll credit you3

* * *

The prank war had pretty much fizzled out after Sam had gotten chewed out by John for lining Dean's pants with superglue. It didn't really restart until two years later, when Sam was sixteen and had enough muscle packed onto his tall, lanky frame to pass for an adult, maybe even better than Dean could at age twenty. Sam was stronger, smarter, and better at getting his way than he had been two years before. Dean could never say no to Sam, not when the younger Winchester laid it on thick with puppy dog eyes included.

And that was how Sam had come to be accompanying Dean, who usually preferred solitude when he worked his manwhore magic, to a bar while their father left them behind on another one of his crazy attempts to avenge Mary. Sam was patient, and had bided his time well while they traveled from state to state, town to town, rundown motel after rundown motel. The elder Winchester was trying to charm the hell out of the bartender, and by the coy smiles and flirtatious winks he was getting, Sam judged that Dean was doing a hell of a job.

When Dean was on his fourth beer, Sam was still toying with his first, courtesy of a cute blonde on the other side, who had waved and winked sweetly when he'd looked in her direction. Well, she would've been cute if she wasn't wearing a dress that was too short, too tight, with a neckline that plunged too much, not to mention all the makeup caked on her face. She screamed _cheap and easy_ and the fact that she was hitting on him made him faintly nauseous.

Sam glanced back at Dean, then grinned maliciously. It was time for him to make his move. He downed the rest of his beer and left the bottle, watching as the bartender leaned over into Dean's personal space, smiling and whispering in his ear. Sam sat down next to Dean, carelessly throwing an arm over his brother's shoulder. "Sorry about being late, sweetheart," he said, with a completely straight face. The bartender's eyes betrayed her shock.

Dean pulled back. "What the hell?" he demanded, raising an eyebrow. Sam glanced apologetically at the bartender. "He gets so cranky when I'm late," he whispered to her, as if it were a big secret. "Sam, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam shrugged wearily. "So demanding, but I love him." The bartender backed up slowly. "All right. I'll just..be over here, if you need anything else," she murmured, gliding away with her full hips swaying in time with her silky, dark hair. She was gorgeous, that was for sure, and Dean was going to be furious. The thought made Sam grin happily.

Dean glared murderously at Sam, downed his beer, snatched his younger brother by the arm, and dragged him out the door of the sleazy bar. "What the hell is your problem, Sam? Did you _see_ that chick?" he demanded, shaking his brother sharply. Sam shrugged. "Yeah. She was out of your league anyways, Dean." Dean punched him. "Obviously not, idiot, because she was this close to taking me back to her place," he snapped, holding his forefinger and thumb about half an inch apart.

"You, Samuel Winchester, are an asshole," Dean sniffed, crossing his arms sulkily as he strode towards the Impala. Sam hurriedly got into the passenger's seat, not sure if Dean was annoyed enough to make him walk. It had happened before. Dean sulked the whole way back to the crappy motel of the week, then flopped down on his bed the moment he entered the room. Sam sat down on the edge of his, content. The day had gone perfectly. "You are such a cock block, Sammy. You're dead for that," Dean said, voice muffled. Sam grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that," he whispered to himself gleefully.


End file.
